The sadness in your eyes
by Dolly Schiller
Summary: There wasn't anything little Christine enjoyed more in the world than those weekends in which her father took her to the circus, but one of the visits she makes at age seven will change her life forever. AU.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

At age seven, there wasn't anything Christine enjoyed more in the world than those weekends in which her father took her to the circus.

Although Gustave Daaé, the child's father, was a well-known professional violinist, in those lanes of merchants and shows, father and daughter could easily go unnoticed, concerned only about not missing track from the other among the crowd.

They had already found their seats at the public to witness the show of the trapezes, one of the girl's favorites, and were waiting there for it to begin. Their seats weren't so good, since it was one of the most expected numbers and they were barely free seats by the time they arrived. Both of them were placed in a corner, near the exit of the tent, and Christine was was more heedful of the noises coming from the outside than she was of the sound of the drums announcing the imminent start of the show.

Entertained trying to understand the conversations that were taking place among the rest of people, and guessing which attractions answered to the noises she couldn't identify. Disappointed by not finding anything interesting enough, she was willing to focus all of her attention back on the stage, when a soft chant made her forget her last purpose.

The melody was barely audible within the people's turmoil, but the sweet, childish hum was the one thing the little one was able to hear. Her childlike hands searched for her father's, trying to capture his attention and, at the same time, feeling unable to forbid herself from listening to that unknown voice. When she turned around at last, she found her father in an established conversation with the marriage sitting next to them, whom seemed more than excited about getting to meet him. Admirers, Christine supposed. But that didn't matter to her now.

She was perfectly aware of how she shouldn't abandon her progenitor in such a way, and neither she wished to cause him worry, but she didn't doubt to take advantage of his distraction to sneak out of that tent.

With just music guiding her steps, Christine made her away among the crowd, her tiny figure easily slinking past the stores. Many were the merchants that tried to catch the child's attention, from supposed prophets to terrifying illusionists, but her steps would only stop once they had found the owner of the voice she had heard.

Devouring each one of her thoughts, music led her to a secluded and little transited area of the carnival. She saw a few men moving boxes and scenerys in the darkness, so she guessed some number would take place there later. But in that moment, only her and the tiny shape she recognized behind some bars existed.

The surrounding darkness and the cage that imprisoned the child made fear creep over her body, but curiosity and the desire to listen to his voice from a closer spot were stronger, making her direct her steps in haste towards the young's prison.

He seemed unaware of her presence, since he continued to move the tiny arms of the stuffed monkey his hands held, uniting together the timbals the monkey held, accompanying that soft rhythm with the melody his lips formed.

Although she had already planned the way she would introduce herself to him, the state she had found him in made the girl mute. If the bag that fully covered his head wasn't disturbing enough, the extremities of the boy, poorly covered with rags, were extremely skinny and full of bruises.

Even if he thought he was alone, the kid shrinked and lied his legs in a way that would cover most of his wounds, as if he was embarrassed. The whole atmosphere that surrounded him and the fear obvious in his every move made Christine feel afraid. But it wasn't him that frightened her: it was _his_ fear what tormented her.

"It's really pretty", she finally declared in a comforting voice, stretching out her hand between the bars to touch the stuffed animal he was holding.

The melody that was coming from under the bag abruptly ended and a growl escaped instead while the consumed figure of the little one quickly crept towards the opposite place of his prison, curling up in a corner.

"No, please, don't be scared! I won't hurt you, I promise that".

Promises bubbled out of her rose lips, her strident voice breaking the silence, but he didn't seem to care; he would only cover his ears and cry, his bruised body trembling uncontrolled.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry". She couldn't be sure even if he was listening to her, since her guilt before such a reaction had caused her to join to his cry, but still she got closer to the bars he was hiding behind now.

"Why did they hit you?". Used to the affection and compassion her father had always shown towards his daughter, Christine couldn't bring herself to understand why anybody would have wanted to stain the pale skin of the boy with bruises, and the mere vision of them made her heart shrink inside her chest.

"Why are you locked up here? Can't you get out? It's better if I go look for my daddy so he can get you out and heal you those".

Although she hadn't received any answer from him, the girl had opted to keep talking, filling the silence with her fanned, chidlish voice. It had seemed to calm the boy in a certain way, who had stopped crying, but once she mentioned her father and got up willing to go look for him, the boy had finally reacted.

"No!"

With just one word, he had gotten Christine to sit back on the floor, next to him, captivated by the sound of his voice and the desperation of his petition. The boy was now sitting on the floor, too, using his thin arms to recline himself there, trembling still.

"Don't... don't go".

Forgetting for once that the other child couldn't see her, she had nodded her head, remaining next to him, now afraid of speaking a word.

Instead, he seemed to be calm at the other side of the bars, purely enjoying the sound of her breathing and knowing he still counted with her company. Still, the fear of boredom or, especially, terror, making her want to run away from him, he made an effort to try and find something to say.

"How... how old are you?"

"Seven years old. What about you?" The figure shrugged shyly, lowering his head even more. Christine frowned, confused at the boy's ignorance.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Eight, I think".

Those words confused the girl again, who couldn't help but feel attracted to the misterious boy and the reason why he was unable to even say his own age. But, by then, she decided to not put pressure on him, considering herself lucky by just getting him to talk.

"I'm called Christine. And you? I'm offering you my hand".

She had passed her arm in between the bars, her open hand waiting for the warmth of the unknown hand grasping her own. The girl had supposed he was hiding his face with that bag because of some type of blindness he was probably ashamed of, so she had decided to make things easier for him and show herself understanding.

He remained in silence, those involuntary tremors that would possess his body once in a while being the one movement he would make. The girl watched him tighten his hand in a fist before deciding to go look for hers, stretching his fingers into the air.

"I'm here".

Accompanying her soft words, she stretched her other hand and took him by the arm. Instead of the warmth and love she had expected from that strange new friend, the coldness invading his body and the way he stepped back, completely terrified by the sudden contact, intimidated her.

"I was just trying to..."

She babbled out a couple of words, hoping he wouldn't feel the wish to run away again or that he would cry but, instead of that, he stretched out his arm to her, letting himself be guided. It was obvious how hard he was trying to swallow the fear, so she acted as sweetly as she knew, moving his arm towards her other hand, waiting until he grabbed her.

"I'm called Christine".

She repeated the words in an exaggerated formal tone and her lips lifted with happiness at the sound of the tiny laugh that escaped from under the bad, followed by the feeling of him tightening the grasp of their hands. She had planned to let her hands rest once again on her lap, but he refused to let her go, making their intertwinned hands lie together on the floor.

"Erik"

His hand was as cold as his arm, so the girl silently caressed it, trying to make him some warmth, just like her father would do with her when they were home late and she had forgotten her winter gloves.

"What were you singing before?"

"Nothing. It's just something in my head".

Her eyes widened, visibly impressed. She had listened to his father many stories about how he could clearly hear the melodies in his head before he would compose them, he used to say it was the Angel of Music that made them get to him and that, someday, he would make sure the Angel would speak to her as well. She couldn't do more than feel admiration to meet such a young boy that had already been visited by the talented ghost.

"Gosh, you must be really important, then. Are you here to sing?".

Before he had time to answer or she had time to run away, the boy let go of her hand and went back to the other corner of the cage, begging her for silence in a gesture while the mild sob was once again heard. She wanted to ask him what was going on, what he was so afraid of, but the own Christine hid herself in the shadows at the sound of steps gettings closer to the prison.

She was curled up behind some boxes, in a way she couldn't be seen, and the creak of the metal door opening guided her look towards an adult mand standing at the now open door of the cage.

Unlike the locked up boy, this man was strong and seemed brute, a tired grin occupying his face while he contemptuosly examinated the figure that in vain tried to hide himself inside the cage. With a sigh, the man walked fast towards him, accidentaly stepping on the stuffed animal the boy had abandoned in a corner.

"What the hell is this doing here?!", the furious man asked, collecting the dirty and damaged toy, throwing it to his face later. "I've told you a thousand times, I don't want your damn trash around here!"

At the lack of reaction from the boy, the man walked towards him grumbling, taking advantage of the way he was lying in the floor to kick his side.

"I'm talking to you!"

Christine covered her mouth with her hand, feeling how tears started to fight to get out in her eyes at seeing the way the boy she already considered her friend was now twisting and sobbing on the floor. She wanted to help him, yell at that man until he would go away, but that man scared her too much to do anything.

More and more dazed and feeling as if she was part of some macabre nightmare, she watched as the lights started to show in the dark cage and kids started to crowd against the sides of it, their laughter and excited whispers filling the air. The girl could still see him clearly, trying to escape of more hits, and she sighed in relief at the man's fake smile. Now that there were people around, he wouldn't dare to keep giving him such a treatment.

She had no idea just how wrong she was.

The man started to talk to the public, as if he was presenting some sort of terrifying show, since he wouldn't stop mentioning some misterious monster he was about to introduce. She couldn't help but wonder how it was possible for someone to be a bigger monster than that man himself, but her heart sank in her chest at the sight of him grabbing Erik by the arm and forcing him to stand.

The boy kicked the air, purely trying to find the floor, while the man still held him in the air, letting him fall to the floor afterwards.

With some last words, the silence was made and the public waited. Christine led her gaze to the door of the cage, still thinking the monster would show up there and fearing it would take her new friend as its victim. But every thought was erased when the man, instead of introducing someone else, got rid of Erik's bag.

Some children screamed, other laughed to see the way the boy would still try to hide his face. But Christine had felt herself mute with terror.

Never in her life she had seen a face like his, nor she had felt so disgusted by the people around her. Never other person's pain had beated with such strenght in her own chest. His lips were cracked and swollen but, besides that, the right half of his face was intact, the right half, however, was barely recognizable.

His rough cheek looked more like a scar and his left eyebrow wasn't even there. His head was poorly covered by some grey locks, that wouldn't hide the deformity of his skin, which would even show part of his skull. But, although the impression of that sight still affected her, that horror was nothing compared to the one caused by the way he was being treated.

He was desperately curling on the floor, trying his hardest to hide himself from the world, he would even try to get his bag back and cover himself with it. But his efforts were in vain, since the man would not only take the bag off him again, but slap him everytime he tried to bend, finally grabbing him by his head, holding his brief hair and exposing him to the people's laughter. Some of them even started to throw food at him.

"Stop it!"

The girl screams was barely heard among the scandal of the rest of people, but now Christine couldn't keep himself quiet. Tears, just like his, wouldn't stop sliding across her face, and her sobs sounded more like screams. Her chest was wildly moving, following the shaken rhythm of her breathing, and now the girl got out of her hiding spot and tried to make her away among the rest.

"He's crying! Can't you see that? Leave him alone!"

Some curious faces went quiet when noticing the little one, but most of them continued to enjoy the cruel show. In a desperate effort to catch their attention, Christine placed herself in front of the bars, stretching her arms to try and cover her friend.

The next moments showed blurry, her constant crying being silenced by the rest of the children, that would push her away from the cage. She had fallen to the floor and was trying to go back to protecting him when she felt arms surrounding her and removing her from the place.

At first, she started to scream and fight, believing the same man that had been beating Erik had now trapped her, but the soft and familiar arms she was circled by were far from being anything like that man's arms.

Her father had put her aside from the crow, concern and reproach being visible in his frown, placing her on the floor and kneeling in front of her.

"Where have you been?"

Tears kept following the path of her cheeks, out of her now red eyes, and her sobs choked the weak words she was trying to form.

"There was a child. He was singing and I... he's my friend, daddy, they're beating him. We have to help him... please".

The man caressed her rose cheeks and her chocolate locks, trying to ease his daughter's pain, but the girl would put herself away from him, wanting nothing but to go back to where her Erik was.

"You should have never left my side. I didn't want you to see that, dear. We can't help him, I'm sorry".

"No! How can you say that?"

Christine abruptly pushed him, escaping from his embrace and determinated to help him on her own, but his tormented face still paralyzed her. But it wasn't just that. Something had changed around the cage, public was now dispersed and the man had gotten out, furiously dividing the rest of the people. His eyes found Christine's and she could only hold onto her father once again.

"You! You helped him to escape!".

Gustave stood carrying his daughter among his arms, tightening their embrace and stepping back when the man got closer, protecting the little one.

"What do you want?"

"It was your daughter! She started to scream like crazy and got my clients distracted. It's her fault the monster escaped!".

The news made Christine's heart skip a beat, who made her face lean out above her father's shoulder, looking for the tiny figure of her friend, but something made her feel he was far away from that place already.

"Excuse me, but the only monster here is yourself", said her father, holding Christine with new strenght and leaving the place in quick steps, getting lost among the people trying to find the boy.

But they wouldn't find him.

The new of his disappearance would occupy a tiny space in the newspapers for just one week and, without a question, the showman would soon find another disgusting way to make more money. But he wouldn't take advantage of Erik's misery again.

Meanwhile, Christine spent numerous nights awake after that experience. The strikes and painful sobs of her friend torturing her every dream, but, at the same time, she felt proud of herself for helping him to scape. She wished he had found a place to hide, away from the public eye and from anyone that could cause him pain, and her conscience mainly wished to find him away, to remove all guilt.

But, what little Christine Daaé didn't know when her father had to sing her lullabies until sleep found her, it was that they would, indeed, meet again. And that sometimes she would wish that had never happened. That she would hate him. That she would love him. And that, just like he had done when she was only seven years old, he would change her life forever.


End file.
